


Knowing

by VampireMadonna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Broken Sterek, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Post Season/Series 03, Stiles not having any of his shit, Stupid Derek being stupid, it's definitely NOT fluffy, you might cry I dunno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireMadonna/pseuds/VampireMadonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's over. They've defeated the Alphas and lived, most of them, to tell the tale. But Derek knows that it isn't the end. There'll be more. Others will come. They always do. And there's only one thing he can do to prevent it, only one way to protect the ones he cares about. He knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knowing

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing for ages and a fan of TW/Sterek from the beginning but this is my first foray into the Sterek fandom as a writer so please be gentle. lol  
> Initially I'd thought about writing a crack fic but when I was rewatching the first 2 seasons, I heard Turning Page (which isn't at all depressing if you listen to the lyrics) and this emofest is the result of that. So...enjoy.
> 
> NB: I planned this before Season 3 began so there's no mention of Cora, Gerard or anything that's happened so far. I tried to keep it vague and minimal while sticking as close to the storyline as possible, or what I think might happen at least. At the end of the day, it's all about Sterek anyway.

 

Silence descended upon the small group where moments ago feral growls and blood-curdling screams had rained down on them.

Suddenly, the deafening stillness was broken by thunderous cries of victory. The sound built, cheers becoming wails of exaltation, of life, amidst the broken bodies littering the ground at their feet.

Lungs laboring, chest burning from the effort it took to regulate his breathing, Derek looked around at the carnage, at his wounded comrades, and he knew.

He _knew_.

It had been a tough fight. They’d lost several battles, lost people they’d known and cared about – Erica, Heather, Ms. Blake, Ms. Morrell, Christina: the no longer nameless girl who’d saved Isaac – but in the end, they’d won the war. Against all odds, they’d defeated the Alphas.

But at what cost?

The kids were hugging, patting themselves on the back for a job well done. He couldn’t blame them, couldn’t fault them this moment of celebration. No one had expected them to come out of this alive, he least of all. He’d always considered himself a realist and realistically, the odds had been stacked against them before they’d made their very first move. And yet…here they were.

Isaac was standing between Scott and Allison, his left arm hanging limply at his side. In a few minutes, he would be as good as new, his bones knitted and healed as if they’d never been broken. For now, he was clearly enjoying being fawned over by his friends, and if his gaze lingered briefly, before he looked away, when Scott leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to Allison’s bruised lips, well…it was a small price to pay in the name of friendship. Though everyone knew how he felt, where his affections lay, no one made an issue of it. They loved him too much to mock his feelings.

Sheriff Stilinski, Chris Argent and Peter stood together, heads bent close: an unlikely alliance if ever there was one.

He could still remember, as clearly as if it were yesterday, the day he and Scott had walked into the Argents’ house, the Sheriff on their tails, and let him in on the secret they’d kept from him for over a year. To say that he’d been shocked was an understatement but a little visual demonstration had been more than enough to make him believe. It had been a necessary move, one that Derek hadn’t even bothered to fight Argent on when he’d suggested it. If their plan, tentative at that point, was to work, they’d need the police’s co-operation. With his son and his son’s best friend as entangled as they were, and Sheriff Stilinski being the compassionate, lawful man that he was, it hadn’t taken much convincing. People were dying, innocent people who had nothing to do with the werewolf wars, and if delving into the supernatural was the only way to handle the situation, so be it. He was in.

With the Sheriff’s help, the town had essentially been put on lock down, a curfew set in place and the borders manned by police. Argent had brought in reinforcements and led by Allison, the hunter-clan’s new chief, they’d chosen an abandoned mill on the outskirts of town, with the woods at the front and water at their backs, for the final showdown. Tactically, it had been sheer genius. Argent’s men had remained hidden on the water and in the mill itself, the perfect cover with its pitch blackness, while the wolves had staved off the attack from the woods. When manipulation and intimidation had ceased to work, brute force was all the Alphas had had left.

Keeping the Alphas from finding out their plans hadn’t been easy but they’d managed, with a little inside help.

Derek’s gaze shifted to a young man crouching beside a body, a body that had once been a carbon copy of himself but now lay battered and broken on the grass.

 _Ethan_.

The most surprising, and unexpected, of their allies.

A short time ago, he’d been the enemy, part of the group Derek had been determined to kill. Now…well, Derek wasn’t one to carelessly throw around the word _friend_ but Ethan, more so than the rest of them, had proven how far he was willing to go to do what was right. All in the name of love.

Peter, it seemed, had been onto something when he’d told him that the power of love wasn’t to be underestimated.

Once upon a time Ethan had tried to _kill_ Danny, now he’d killed his own brother, his twin, to save him.

 _Well_ , Derek amended, _technically that isn’t true_.

Ethan wasn’t supposed to be there. Once the Alpha pack had caught onto his feelings for Danny and wavering commitment to them, they’d tried to take Danny out themselves, with Aiden as their weapon of choice this time, but Ethan had stopped him. Deucalian had no problem pitting twin against twin and Aiden’s anger had been ferocious, though he’d initially seemed unwilling to take that final step towards fratricide.

All of that changed tonight.

Ethan had promised both sides that he would stay out of the fight, his role reduced to that of bodyguard for Lydia and Danny, just in case the Alphas decided to get a little revenge while the rest of them were preoccupied, but he’d been close enough to know what was happening, that they were losing. Even with the Argents’ innovative artillery, they’d almost lost, the Alphas simply too strong and unpredictable for them to handle. If Ethan hadn’t come, it would have been their bodies on the ground – his, Scott’s, Isaac’s and Boyd’s – not the Alphas. But he _had_ come and with another alpha on their side, making it three since Peter still hadn’t fully recovered from his death/resurrection and had elected to stay out of the fight, the odds had evened out. He’d helped him and Scott take down Deucalian first, unquestionably the hardest and most skilled of the bunch, while the betas and the Argents distracted the others but when it came to his brother…he couldn’t do it. Aiden had suffered no such attack of guilt or dutiful affection, however. If anything, he’d been blinded by a murderous rage, his brother his motivation and target.

At first Ethan put up a half-hearted attempt to hold him off but it soon became clear to Derek that he wasn’t really trying. Whether he wanted to die, thought he _deserved_ it for betraying his brother, Derek didn’t know, but it was obvious that Ethan wasn’t going to save himself. He was going to let Aiden kill him and Aiden was going to do it. So Derek did the only thing he could do.

He killed Aiden.

They owed Ethan that much for his sacrifice; _he_ owed Ethan for helping him protect his pack. It didn’t matter that Ethan had done it mainly for Danny, the fact remained that he’d been instrumental in their victory and for that Derek owed him a great debt.

But Ethan would never get over it, Derek thought. He of all people knew the guilt that came with being responsible for a loved one’s death. It was something that never truly faded. But unlike Derek, Ethan still had Danny.

Danny who was on his way to him even now, Lydia in tow. Derek’s gaze swung towards them just as they broke through the line of trees. He felt a moment’s envy as Danny tore away and raced to Ethan’s side, crouching beside him and slowly sliding his arms around his bent shoulders.

So long as he didn’t push Danny away, so long as he let the others be there for him, Ethan would be okay. He was lucky.

Feeling more weary than he ever had in his life, Derek turned away, turned his back on them all, and started towards the trees.

As he did so, his eyes drifted over _him_.

Even the blood streaming steadily from the gash on his hairline wasn’t enough to hide those ridiculous moles that someone – his maker – had seen fit to sprinkle across his face. It was a miracle that he wasn’t more banged up than he appeared. He was so unfailingly, vulnerably _human_ after all. This hadn’t been his fight but he’d ingratiated himself into it anyway, doing what he could under Deaton’s tutoring, to be of help and he had indeed helped. There were countless times along the way that he could’ve died, almost _did_ , but he too had lived to see another day. Next time, however, he might not be so lucky. None of them might.

Which was why Derek knew that he was right. He just knew.

Someone called his name, _he_ called his name, but he didn’t look back.

He strode into the woods and let the darkness swallow him whole.

 

 Days passed but the celebrations continued.

Tonight Derek – or Peter, he wasn’t sure – was playing host.

Pizzas had been ordered and enough booze to satisfy a frat was stocked in the freezer that had somehow appeared in his loft. The parents had granted permission so long as Derek and Peter kept them off the roads in their _altered_ states, meaning Derek was stuck with them until the following day. Ordinarily, he would gripe and grumble at this invasion of privacy – unless there was a life or death situation, he didn’t want or need a bunch of teenagers in his personal space, his betas notwithstanding – but he’d found himself feeling rather conciliatory since they’d defeated the Alphas. A little party, a way of blowing off steam and releasing the residual tension that he knew still clung to them all, was the least he could do for them. It was his way of saying thank you. And heaven knew that once the high faded, when the reality of how close they’d actually come to dying set in, the crash that was headed their way was nothing they were prepared for.

“Yo, Derek!”

He turned towards the voice, hand coming up instinctively to catch a beer can a split-second before it hit him in the face. He couldn’t  resist the familiar glare that settled onto his countenance, an old friend paying a brief visit, but Boyd just grinned at him and turned back to the group.

They were all clustered together: Allison curled up against Scott, Isaac ever present on his other side; Boyd and Stiles on the floor at their feet, and Lydia... He cocked a brow as he intercepted a telling look between her and his uncle. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, was going on between them but something had changed over the course of the past few months. Lydia no longer seemed afraid of him. Annoyed and irritated, yes, but everyone annoyed and irritated her. There was something there, though. Maybe it was a result of her seemingly devil-may-care approach to life after Jackson left but Derek hoped that she knew what she was doing. Peter wouldn’t care that she was only seventeen years old and he was more complex and dangerous than any woman could possibly want or need.

Peter seemed to be regaling them with some story or other and they were listening attentively, wrapped up in whatever tale he was weaving. If there was one thing he remembered about his uncle growing up, it was that he’d always been an excellent and animated storyteller. It didn’t matter that the kids still didn’t like or trust him all that much, the current mellow mood allowed for forgiveness, acceptance and inclusion, however temporary.

Or maybe it wasn’t temporary, he mused. Maybe _this_ was the new normal.

The battle had forced them to put aside old grudges and depend on each other to defeat a mutual enemy. Perhaps now that that enemy had been defeated, they no longer needed to draw lines in the sand. There was no need for _us vs. them_. It was just _US_ now.

Or maybe it was all bullshit, his subconscious’ attempt at wishful thinking. No matter how grim everyone thought him, even he was prone to fanciful ideas on occasion. Chances were, however, that once the happiness faded, when reality set back in, everyone would revert to their basic nature. The kids, the innocents, would be the most trusting but the adults would return to being wary of each other, bracing for or anticipating some kind of attack. The Sheriff/police vs the Argents vs the wolves.

His decision was the right one. He knew it was.

Cracking open the beer, he strolled over to the spiral staircase that led to the roof and climbed the stairs two at a time. As he pushed open the door, he took a deep draw of the crisp night air, feeling the oxygen molecules travel to his lungs and through his blood. He settled down in his favorite spot and for the first time since the battle, he felt himself relax.

The selling point of the loft had been the roof access. Not only was it handy in the event of an attack but he liked having a space all to himself where he could just sit and think. Every night before he went to bed, he would come to the roof, look out at the town and empty his mind. It was the only time he ever truly felt at peace, his constant battle, the war within himself, calling a cease-fire for these brief moments.

No one ever disturbed him up here. He didn’t think anyone else had ever been there before.

“I always wondered what the view from up here looked like. It’s not all that great, I gotta say.”

Of course _he_ just had to be the first, to spoil what little tranquility Derek found in the world. He wouldn’t be him if he didn’t.

He always wondered why his senses never warned him when Stiles was coming. Maybe, subconsciously, his heart didn’t want them to.

 _Traitor_.

Closing his eyes, Derek took a deep breath and released it slowly before glancing over his shoulder at his uninvited guest.

“What do you want, Stiles?”

All wide-eyed innocence, Stiles ambled over and dropped down beside him. “Nothing. Do I need to want something to spend time with my good friend Derek, old buddy, old pal?” He flashed his default silly grin and it lanced straight through Derek’s heart.

Sighing exaggeratedly, Derek turned away and took a long sip of his beer. “You’re an insufferable idiot,” he muttered.

Stiles nodded agreeably. “I know. But that’s why you love me, isn’t it? It’s why everyone loves me.”

Hearing the word _love_ , especially from Stiles’ lips, shouldn’t affect him so but it did. Not for the first time, Derek was thankful that Stiles hadn’t accepted his uncle's offer of _the bite_. Stiles couldn’t hear the way Derek’s heart tripped, skipping a beat before speeding up at the words “ _that’s why you love me”._ He didn’t know, would never know, how much truth they held.

“Did you want something?” he asked again, needing to get as far away from him as possible lest he threaten his resolve but not wanting to resort to aggression unless he absolutely had to. Their relationship had changed significantly over the past few months. There was no longer harsh dislike in their tones when they griped at each other. Instead, they had settled into an almost playful banter and he didn’t want to ruin it. Not now.

“You don’t seem happy,” Stiles commented softly.

That caught him by surprise. “What?”

Stiles turned towards him. “Everyone’s celebrating being alive, they’d shout it from the rooftops if they could, but you… You seem just as tense and anxious as you were before…” His eyes sharpened, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a frown. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling us. Are we still under threat? Is this just a brief reprieve or…”

Derek shook his head. “No. As far as I know, the Alphas were it. If they’d brought in reinforcements they would’ve shown themselves by now.”

Stiles’ frown deepened. “Then why…” He broke off again, chewing his bottom lip in a way that Derek found distracting, something he noticed Stiles only did when he wasn’t sure he should say what he was thinking. “Did you _want_ us to die?”

Derek’s eyes grew into huge saucers. “ _What_? Why the hell would you even ask that?”

A flush leaked into Stiles’ cheeks but he didn’t back down. “Well, what other explanation is there? I know you Derek. You wear your anger like armor but as much as you fight to stay alive, it’s like there’s a part of you that’s always waiting to die. Just like…like Ethan. He would’ve let Aiden kill him if you hadn’t killed Aiden for him. I guess the question should be did _you_ want to die?”

Derek opened his mouth, to yell, to deny, probably a combination of the two, but then sharply snapped it shut.

This was another thing that unnerved him about Stiles. He was far more observant and perceptive than people gave him credit for. Derek was pretty sure that Stiles was a genius but his goofy nature and lack of socially-acceptable coolness made him someone people often overlooked. That was their mistake, though, and their loss. There were many sides to Stiles, sides that Derek was sure Stiles wasn’t even aware of himself. But he was. If no one else did, he knew.

“No,” he finally said, surprised by the raw vulnerability he heard in his own voice. “I didn’t want to die.” He paused, wondering just how open he was willing to be. “But I thought we would. I never thought we’d make it out of there alive.”

Stiles brought his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his knee. “Me either,” he said quietly. “Even with the Argents, it just didn’t seem possible.”

“We did, though,” Derek said, aiming for an optimistic tone as he lightly bumped Stiles’ arm with his knee. “We lived, we survived. It’s over.” _For now_.

“Yes. You’re right.” Stiles flashed a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Silence fell between them and though it wasn’t awkward, Derek didn’t want it to become too comfortable. If he let himself relax too much around Stiles, heaven knew what he would do, what he might say.

“How’s Ethan?” he asked, finding that he genuinely wanted to know. He hadn’t seen him or Danny since that night, unsurprisingly.

Stiles sighed. “As well as can be expected, I guess. He’s pretty much keeping to himself. Danny’s the only one he’ll see or talk to, which is also to be expected I suppose. At least he’s not pulling away from him. Danny says to give him time. Time heals all wounds. Or so they say…” he added, trailing off.

The wistful note in his voice made Derek wonder if he was thinking about his mother.

One night about a month ago, when the Alphas had sneak-attacked them and Scott and Isaac had almost died, _again_ , Stiles had told him about his mother while he waited for his best friend to heal and wake up. Derek wasn’t sure why, Stiles had never shared anything so private or personal with him before, but he’d listened, memorizing what he’d said word for word. If he was honest with himself, he’d been incredibly touched. It was a testament to how far they’d come from the days when Stiles would have gladly had his head.

He also understood. No one knew better than he the gaping wound that loss could leave behind. Even though Stiles still had his father, friends who cared about him and wasn’t constantly running for his life like Derek was, they were brothers in that respect. There would always be something missing, a hole in their hearts that nothing and no one could ever fill.

Clearing his throat, Derek raised his beer can in a toast. “To life.”

The look Stiles gave him was strange, gone before he even had a chance to contemplate what it meant, before being replaced by his usual puppy-dog expression.

In lieu of a drink, Stiles made a fist and bumped it against Derek’s can.

“To life.”

 

 It was time.

He’d taken care of things as best he could, made arrangements for Peter to handle everything in his stead.

It was the best thing for everyone involved. He knew it. So would they, one day.

But before he left, because he knew that when he did he would not be coming back, he decided to allow himself one last stroll around the town he had once called home. The town that would still have been home had his life not been changed so irrevocably because of his foolish, childhood innocence. It didn’t matter that he’d been a teenager. He could admit to himself now that he’d still been a child at the time – naïve, inexperienced, untried – and Kate had taken advantage of that, preyed upon it. It didn’t bring him any closer to forgiving himself but it helped him understand why it had happened.

Derek walked with no destination in mind, passing old buildings and new, but his heart apparently had more control over his body than he realized because after a while his surroundings became uncomfortably familiar. Somehow he’d unconsciously found his way to _his_ neighbourhood, to his street.

He forced his feet to come to a stop, halting merely one house away from where he lived. The smart thing to do would be to turn around and get as far away from him as he possibly could before he was tempted to do something stupid. He’d already made up his mind to leave without saying goodbye. They would probably be angry for a while, assuming they cared at all, but eventually they would see that it was for the best. It was also just easier, for him. If it was the cowardly way out, he chose to overlook it.

If he was smart, if he had any shred of self-preservation, he would leave the boy alone and get the heck out of dodge this very minute. But he’d never been accused of being the smart one. He was a dumb mutt after all. Selfish, arrogant, taking what he wanted when he wanted it, consequences be damned. So if he gave into his selfish nature this one last time, it would hardly be out of character, would it? It would be perfectly _in_ character, in fact. The big, bad wolf preying upon the innocent and unsuspecting. _Do unto others as had been done unto you_ , his saying was.

Before he knew it, he was racing across his yard and climbing the tree just outside his window. He briefly noted that the Sheriff’s car wasn’t parked out front and the wolf in him grinned gleefully, rubbing its anxious paws together, anticipating the meal it was about to consume.

Derek paused outside his window for a moment, struck by the solitary figure _he_ made as he sat in front of his computer playing some game or other. Derek absently raised a hand to the glass and tenderly stroked Stiles’ head through the pane. Though his fingertips touched smooth glass, he could feel the silky softness of the real thing. He’d felt it once and had never forgotten the sensation.

He tried the window, found it unlocked, of course – no one in this neighbourhood locked their windows – and slid it silently upward, swinging his body through and landing in a sleek crouch.

Straightening, he froze where he stood. He felt like an intruder, his inner wolf, the predator, having receded now that his work was done. He’d brought him as far as he could. Derek the _man_ needed to take the next step. He was the one who wanted this after all. The one who _wanted_.

As if suddenly becoming aware that he was no longer alone, his survival instincts kicking in perhaps, Stiles swiveled in his chair, his mouth falling open when he saw who stood behind him.

“Derek?” he whispered, removing his headphones as he got to his feet.

Derek didn’t move an inch. He’d never felt this unsure, this _insecure_ , in his life. Why was he here? Why on earth had he come?

“Derek.”

There was no question this time. It was a statement, a statement tinged with invitation, welcome…want.

The moment Stiles took a step towards him, Derek closed the distance between them, letting his own instincts take control. He gently cupped Stiles’ face, his eyes desperately searching for something – rejection? – before he lowered his head and lightly molded his lips to Stiles’.

 _Selfish_ had never felt or tasted so good.

He was surprised, and yet not, when Stiles’ arms slipped around his waist, pulling him closer, his lips parting instinctively beneath Derek’s.

 _Why?,_ he wanted to ask. _Why aren’t you pushing me away? Why can’t you see that I’m no good for you?_

But he didn’t. Even he wasn’t that stupid.

 

 He’d intended to be on the road at the break of dawn but the night hadn’t turned out exactly as he’d planned.

It had been far, far better.

Still, he wasn’t undeterred. If anything, his determination to leave had been cemented. He _needed_ to go…for him.

As he finished dressing and turned to look at Stiles, he felt a brief stab of regret. He didn’t want him to feel used or taken advantage of but when he awoke and found Derek gone, when he was told that Derek hadn’t just left him but the town itself, how could he feel anything else?

In a perfect world, Stiles would wake up in his arms and they’d probably be awkward, neither one knowing what to do or say. Then maybe he’d kiss him again for lack of anything else to do, then maybe they’d make love again because after what he’d experienced last night his body would never crave another the way it craved Stiles, then maybe he’d find the courage to tell him how he truly felt. How he’d felt for longer than he even knew.

But in a perfect world, there would be no werewolves or hunters. His family wouldn’t have been slaughtered for being who they were by birth; he wouldn’t have to constantly look over his shoulder, afraid to let anyone in because he didn’t know how to trust, because he was no good, ruined, tainted, contagious. The people he met about wouldn’t automatically have targets on their backs simply because they were fool enough to care about him. In a perfect world, Beacon Hills would still be his home and Stiles, Scott, Isaac…they would all be friends. No Alpha-Pack status defining them, no complicated relations. Sadly, that perfect world simply didn’t exist.

Stiles deserved better than that, better than what he had to offer. Stiles deserved everything that Derek couldn’t give him.

Shrugging into his jacket, he spared one last look at him, ignoring the momentary longing to press a kiss to the smattering of moles between his shoulder blades, and headed for the window.

 

 He made good time running back to the loft, grabbing his stuff and getting the Camaro on the road.

He was almost at the town’s exit when he turned around and headed back. There was one more place that he needed to visit, people he needed to say goodbye too.

The Hale House was exactly as it had been the last time he’d been there. And the time before that, and the time before that. It was in ruins and ruins didn’t really change, except perhaps to grow more weeds and vines and shadows. This one didn’t, though. He’d always thought that maybe the ground had been burnt to the point where nothing could grow there again. But perhaps the weeds and vines, nature, knew that it was a house of death and life could never thrive there ever again. He wouldn’t be surprised. After all, his family had been massacred there, he had killed Peter there, Peter had killed Laura there and he had buried her there as well, albeit briefly. It was no place for life nor the living.

But it was home and would always be the only home he had and would ever know.

He was just emerging from the house, having walked through it one last time, when he realized that he wasn’t alone.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised but he was.

“Wondering how I knew you were here?” Stiles asked coldly, arms crossed over his chest, hip cocked against the bonnet of Derek’s car. “You’re a lot more predictable than you realize, Derek Hale.”

The bite in his words was definitely no surprise but they stung all the same. Derek didn’t have to remind himself that he deserved it.

Stiles wore the same jeans and red hoodie that he’d stripped off of him the night before, no t-shirt underneath. He’d obviously dressed hastily and raced over since their houses were miles apart.

“When I woke up and you were gone, which wasn’t a huge shocker FYI, I wondered if I should even bother. I already knew deep down. Even while we…” A deep blush stained his cheeks and he seemed to grind his teeth in anger. “I just knew you were up to something. You have been for a while now, haven’t you? Even before the big fight, you’d already planned to leave if we won.”

“Yes,” Derek said simply. He wouldn’t add insult to injury by lying to him.

“Why bother then? Why not just leave before the fight instead of risking your life by staying?”

“I couldn’t leave you guys hanging.” _Couldn’t leave_ you _until I knew you were safe_. “It was my fight. My fault you guys were dragged into it in the first place. I had to make this town safe again, not just for the pack but for everyone.”

“And now? If everything’s fine and safe, as you say, why are you leaving now?” Stiles cocked a very Derek-esque brow. “And don’t even give me that _it’s for your own good_ bull.”

Derek shook his head sadly. “Maybe one day, when you’re older…”

Stiles dropped his arms, his face contorting into a mask of rage that Derek had never imagined he was capable of. “Don’t tell me that I’ll understand when I’m older, Derek. Don’t you dare. My age didn’t stop you last night, didn’t make you keep your hands to yourself, and we both know that I have seen more death and pain than most adults will ever even hear about in their entire life. And I’m not just talking about the past year since you rolled into town.”

This time, Derek knew for sure that he was talking about his mother and he hated being responsible for making that hurt resurface.

“Stiles…”

“I know that you think that you’re helping us somehow but can’t you see? All you’re really doing is running away. You’re afraid to let people in and I get that. Trust me, I understand. I could be a total ass, cuss you out and go on my merry way but I won’t. I wouldn’t be doing myself any favours. It wouldn’t be the truth and just like I don’t lie to myself, I won’t lie to you. You’re not an easy person to care about but we do care about you. And you care about us. If you could just…”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Derek snapped. “Why the hell do you think I’m leaving, Stiles? It’s _because_ I care. Death follows me everywhere I go. It’s because of me that my family died and ever since then the stench of death has followed me _everywhere_. It’s inside me, it’s in my blood and all it does is attract murderers and predators. I’ve heard you guys joking about how _Derek can’t have nice things_ , and you’re right. He can’t. I can’t.” _And that includes you._ “I’m _cursed_ , Stiles. You might as well just call me the Grim Reaper because that’s exactly what I am. The Alphas are gone but it’s only a matter of time before someone else comes. I don’t have any more family to lose Stiles. The next time, it’s going to be Scott or Isaac, Boyd, Allison, Lydia.” He paused, his heart in his eyes as they locked imploringly with Stiles’. “Or you. So I’m leaving. Because I don’t want to be, I _can’t_ be, responsible for your death. There’s not much in this world that can break me, Stiles, but if any of you died… I think that would be it for me.”

For a moment, they were completely still. Frozen. Even time seemed to have stopped. Derek couldn’t even hear their breathing.

Then the sharp, jarring sound of Stiles’ bitter laugh tore through the air between them.

“Is that what you tell yourself at night, Derek? That you’re some harbinger of death and destruction so you need to leave to save us little people from an untimely demise? Is that how you justify it?”

He wore a wild grin that cut Derek to the quick because it turned him into someone else, a Stiles that Derek didn’t recognize.

“I don’t doubt for a minute that you believe this drivel, I just can’t fathom _how_ you can actually make yourself believe it.” Once again Stiles’ expression changed, suddenly turning serious. “What’s to stop anyone from coming for Scott, Derek? Or Peter. Isaac, Boyd. Did you forget that there are still werewolves here, two of whom are Alphas? Are you so conceited that you honestly believe your being gone is going to suddenly make Beacon Hills less of a threat to other wolves? And what’s going to happen to Isaac and Boyd, Derek? _You’re_ their leader. You’ve finally earned their trust and this is the stunt that you’re going to pull? I won’t even ask if you told them. I know you didn’t. You didn’t have the balls to tell anyone. What happens to betas without an Alpha, _Derek_?”

“They’ll be fine,” Derek insisted, chin set at a stubborn angle. “They have Scott…”

“Who doesn’t know the first thing about being an Alpha,” Stiles interjected. “And who, by the way, is still coming to grips with simply being a werewolf.”

“…and Peter.”

Stiles scoffed. “He’s narcissistic, doesn’t give a crap about anyone but himself and chances are, he’ll flee at the first sign of trouble. Oh, and did I mention that he’s _still_ recovering from that time you clawed his throat out and _killed_ him?”

Derek’s hands balled into fists at his side. “He stayed too, didn’t he? He could have left before the battle, his life was every bit as in danger as mine, but he didn’t despite being far less equipped in his current condition. He promised me that he’d look after them and…I trust him.” Derek was surprised by the ring of truth in his words. Somewhere along the way, his uncle had apparently earned his forgiveness, or at least enough of it that he trusted him again. He didn’t mention that while he’d been packing, Peter had laughed at him and, like Stiles, accused him of running away. “If anything happens, Peter knows how to reach me. I’ll come right back if I’m needed.”

“So if we’re ever under threat of _death_ again, you’ll come racing in to save the day. Great. That’s good to know. I feel so safe now.”

“Stiles… I know that you have your reasons where Peter’s concerned, we all do, but even you have to admit that he’s been there when it counted. You know he has.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, Derek’s words sinking in, before he spoke again. “You’re their family, you know. Pack leader aside, they look to you for guidance in other things. You’re a role model to them, an example of overcoming adversity and the curveballs life throws at you, all that fun stuff. And the loft…it’s their home.”

Derek’s tone and expression gentled. “Isaac has Ms. McCall now. She’s technically his legal guardian until he’s eighteen, anyway, and I doubt she’ll kick him to the curb even then. He’s set for life. And Boyd went back home. If things ever get rough, for either of them, the loft will always be open to them. To all of you. I signed it over to Peter and he promised to look after things for me.”

“What about me?” Stiles asked, his voice small, almost childlike.

Derek’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What… Stiles. You have your dad, Scott, your friends. If things keep going well with your dad and Melissa, you’ll eventually have a stepmom. I thought you’d be happy.”

“ _Happy?_ ” Stiles repeated. “I’m lonely, Derek.”

“Stiles…”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is for me? Day in and day out? Having to keep up this façade of being hyper and witty and content because if I don’t the people I care about will start to worry and the last thing I want is to make their already stressful lives even more so. I’m happy for my dad, I really am, but I wonder sometimes if he doesn’t think of _her_. If he doesn’t think that maybe this isn’t what she’d want. It _is_ , she’d want him to be happy, but what if he marries Ms. McCall and little by little, as the years pass, he forgets her. Her birthday, their anniversary, the day she died. It’ll be like she never existed.”

“Stiles…that won’t happen. He could never forget her. Not when he has you to remind him of her every day.”

“And Scott,” Stiles continued as if Derek hadn’t spoken. “Every time he turns around, Isaac is there. His little, oversized shadow. It was hard enough competing with Allison but now I have to compete with Isaac too. Again, I don’t begrudge him that. Isaac needs Scott more than I ever will. He’s endured absolute terror at the hands of someone who was supposed to love and take care of him and Scott and Ms. McCall give him what he needs. I’m happy for him. Truly, I am. And he gives Scott what he needs as well. Scott’s always wanted a brother and now he has Isaac. He also needs to be needed. He needs to be the hero and now he has two people who turn to him when they’re in trouble, who look to him for answers, who, well, worship him. Three if you count Boyd. It’s beautiful. Just…lovely. But where does that leave me?”

Derek’s heart clenched and he felt his resolve wavering. “Stiles…”

“I thought that if anyone knew where I was coming from, if anyone could possibly understand, it would be you. And things have changed between us. I don’t just mean last night. It’s been ages since you’ve bitten my head off or hit me and meant it. I thought…” He broke off, threading a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I thought. I guess I thought it meant something.” He locked eyes with Derek, his gaze piercing. “It _did_ mean something. You know it did. Yet you’re going to throw it away because you’re scared? Because you can’t accept that maybe this is your chance to be happy? Is it really that terrifying to you?”

Derek took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. No matter what Stiles said, no matter how tempted he was to throw caution to the wind, he couldn’t forget why he was doing this. Why he had to.

“One day, when the time is right, you’ll meet someone, guy or girl, it doesn’t matter, who will promise you the moon and the stars and actually be able to deliver. They’ll know that they lucked out when they met you and you’ll be thankful that you waited and didn’t waste your time on someone like me. One day you’ll know that this was the right thing for you.”

For a moment, Stiles didn’t say anything, simply continued to look at him.

“Screw you, Derek. If you want to go that badly, then go. Don’t patronize me with some BS about meeting Prince or Princess Charming and realizing that you did all of this for me. Don’t expect me to be _grateful_ because I’m not and I never will be. This has nothing to do with me or Scott or Isaac. It’s all about you and your freaking mental and emotional dysfunction. You say that you don’t want to die but can you really call this _living_? You won’t let yourself be happy because you don’t want to be. Being miserable is all you know and you’re afraid to even try to be something else. You’re a coward. So go.” He stepped away from the car, making a gallant bow. “Get in your chariot and go on. I’m sure there’s somewhere over the rainbow where people like you meet and stew in their mutual self-hatred. I won’t keep you any longer.”

It was hard to listen to Stiles’ words, to see his hurt, and not break beneath the weight of it but Derek knew that his course of action was the right one. There was a gutted house full of ghosts behind him to back him up.

He climbed down the rotted steps and moved around him, pausing when he opened the car door to look back at him.

“I meant what I said, Stiles. There’s someone out there for you and one day you’ll find them and you’ll know that I was wrong for you. You deserve so much more than I could ever give you.”

Stiles shook his head. “Screw what I deserve, Derek. What about what I want?”

He broke off and looked away and Derek could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, as if he struggled to control or contain his emotions. He sympathized.

When Stiles looked back at him, his amber eyes shone with unshed tears, burning into Derek’s. “When you think back on this conversation, because I know you will, I just want you to know that I’m not angry: I’m hurt and I’m disappointed but not angry. I’m disappointed because I know that _you_ deserve far more than you will ever let anyone give you, more than you will ever give yourself, and that, to me, is the saddest, most cruel thing a person could ever do to themselves. You’re punishing yourself by denying yourself even a shred of happiness, by withholding love. _That’s_ what I know.” He angrily wiped the tears from his eyes before they could fall. “Goodbye Derek.”

Stiles turned away then, turning his back on Derek the way Derek had turned his back on the group the night of the fight.

Derek climbed into the car, gunned the engine and slowly made his way down the bumpy road. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed him that Stiles was just as he’d left him, back turned defiantly towards him.

God, it hurt. When he’d come to his decision, he’d never imagined the soul-crushing pain he would be in. It was a small price to pay for what he was doing, though. What he was protecting, saving.

One day, Stiles would look back and realize that he’d been right. Derek had done what was in his best interest, all of their interests. Maybe he would never forgive him, Stiles was stubborn like that, but at least he’d know.

Derek had to believe that, needed it to be true. He needed Stiles to be safe and happy, to have a life, hopefully a long one, filled with smiles and laughter, not death and blood-shed.

He’d done the right thing, he just knew he had.

And he _had_ to be right, he thought as he drove across the county line, leaving his life, and love, behind.

Because knowing was all he had.


	2. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "To Build a Home" from S2E08, during the scene where Sheriff Stilinski told Stiles that he'd been fired.   
> Like the chapter 1, the lyrics don't exactly fit but far be it for me to argue with inspiration.
> 
> It ended up longer than planned. Sorry!

“You know, when I left I honestly never thought I’d be back. Not permanently anyway.”

“Neither did we. I think your dad gave up on hoping and forced himself to accept the fact that he’d only see you at Thanksgiving or Christmas.”

“How ecstatic is he to have his baby boy home?” Stiles asked, grinning at Scott’s reflection in the rearview mirror.

Scott laughed. “ _Very_. Mom is too.”

“Well, of course. Melissa’s a woman and you know women: they like to keep their men close.”

“Hey!” Scott yelled in mock offense. “You can’t call her Melissa.”

“What else am I gonna call her? I can’t call her Ms. McCall anymore. She’s about to become a Stilinski. And I can’t very well call her Mrs. Stilinksi, can I?”

“I don’t see why not,” Scott muttered to himself.

Stiles’ grin widened but he didn’t say anything.

Scott was the best. Anyone else might have said _“you could just call her Mom,”_ but not Scott. He understood. Stiles loved Melissa and was thankful that his father had found someone to spend the rest of his days with but though he meant no disrespect to her, he’d already had a mother and he wasn’t looking for another. His mom would be his one and only for as long as he lived. No one could ever take her place, not that Melissa was trying to.

“Hey, Scott?” At Scott’s raised eyebrow, he continued. “Thanks for coming. Helping out.”

Scott’s usual puppy-dog smile slipped back into place. “What are besties and future bros for?”

“Besties,” Stiles repeated, shaking his head. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Allison.”

“I should hope so. She _is_ my wife, after all.”

“Poor girl…”

When Scott kicked the back of his seat, Stiles only laughed.

It had been three years since he’d left Beacon Hills to go off to college at Stanford. At the time he’d been brimming with excitement, convinced that his life was finally about to begin. In truth, he’d been running, just like he’d accused _him_ of doing.

When he’d gotten back home that fateful morning, he’d flopped face-down onto his bed and stayed there for hours until Scott had come over to check on him after numerous calls and texts had gone unanswered.

Scott hadn’t asked any questions. He’d known by then. They all had.

Derek’s leaving town was far more significant than he could’ve ever realized because everyone but Derek knew that he’d taken Stiles’ heart with him. Or left it behind shattered in pieces. There wasn’t much difference as far as Stiles was concerned.

Everyone treaded carefully around him after that, as if he were delicate china that would break at the mere mention of Derek’s name. He’d appreciated it but what they hadn’t known was that it was all in vain. Everything reminded Stiles of Derek. He was a ghost haunting the town, much like his family up at the Hale House. The only way to get away from it, the only way he would ever be free, was to leave Beacon Hills.

He’d been sad to say goodbye to his friends, his dad who had been his rock for eighteen long years, but as soon as he’d crossed the county line, the weight had fallen off his shoulders. For the first time in months, he could finally breathe again.

His first year of college had been great. He was still considered a dork but he’d managed to amass an eclectic mix of friends – from fellow dorks, to Mensa-level brainiacs, to pot-smoking hippies and BMOCs – and had mastered juggling a fairly active social life without sacrificing his grades. He’d even dated casually, getting semi-serious with a sophomore at the end of his freshman year but things had quickly fizzled out after they’d tried to consummate their relationship and he hadn’t been able to follow through. Though his body had been quite willing, there seemed to be some sort of mental, or emotional, block in place.

For the first time since Derek had crushed him, he’d been furious with him. Would have strangled him with his bare hands if he’d appeared in front of him. Whatever was wrong with him was Derek’s fault. He just knew it.

He’d been halfway through his second year when the call came. He could remember it as if it were yesterday.

He’d just come into the dorm after putting in a couple of hours at the library, then meeting friends for dinner, when his phone rang at exactly 9:00pm, like he was being timed. He’d smiled when he’d seen that it was his dad, already anticipating hearing his voice since they hadn’t spoken in a few weeks, but the smile immediately slid from his lips when he heard his father’s tone.

He’d instinctively known that it wasn’t going to be a pleasant call.

By the time they hung up, he was sitting on his bed, chin on his chest, phone barely gripped in his limp fingers.

Cancer had struck again.

Not his dad luckily, for which he was very thankful, but a member of his family all the same. His cousin Violet.

He hadn’t seen or spoken to her in a few years but when he was younger, she’d been his favorite person. She used to come to Beacon Hills during the summer and babysit him, and Scott on the nights that he slept over. He always enjoyed those nights the most because sometimes his parents wouldn’t come home – he knew why _now_ , though at the time he hadn’t understood why they would want to spend the night at a hotel when they had a perfectly good bed in their room – and he and Scott would stay up until midnight or later eating whatever they wanted, watching whatever they wanted. Violet gave them free reign of the house. Of course the following day they were usually exhausted and had belly-aches or nightmares during the night but it was all worth it because those occasions were so few and far between.

As the years passed by, she’d visited less and less. She’d gotten married young – she was only ten years older than he was – and had a child and though he’d missed her visits, and the freedom that came with it, he’d still been happy for her because she was happy. Then came his mom’s illness. Violet had been one of the first to visit in the early stages, when things had still been bright and hopeful. Even when she’d returned home, she would call and check in at least once a week. When his mom’s health continued to decline and the doctors confirmed what they’d all suspected, that the treatments weren’t working, family members started crawling out of the woodworks. He remembered his father saying that they had come to _pay their respects_. Personally, he hadn’t found anything respectful about it and as an adult, it pissed him off even more to think about it. As far as he was concerned, if they couldn’t be assed to keep in touch while she’d been healthy and full of life and could enjoy their company then they needn’t bother coming around when she was too sick to appreciate it. It simply didn’t count.

Violet was the only exception. She simply was.

She’d stayed with them through the worst of it, though she’d been home with her husband and child when his mom had ultimately passed away. He didn’t hold it against her, though. She’d been there when it mattered.

Now, barely a decade later, she was in the exact same place his mother had been.

His father hadn’t told him until things had taken a turn for the worst. Apparently she hadn’t wanted him to know until there was absolutely no hope left.

So that was how he’d spent Spring Break: at his dying cousin’s bedside.

It wasn’t any better the second time around, even though he was older now. In some ways, it was worse. As a child, he hadn’t had any real understanding of what was happening to his mother. He’d known, technically, but he hadn’t understood the specifics of it. Didn’t comprehend what chemo and radiation were, what exactly they did to a body, how vicious cancer truly was.

 _Treating poison with poison_ , he’d thought. _Ingenious._

His reason for becoming a med student had played out right in front of him yet again but instead of having his course reaffirmed, he’d simply felt hollow. Useless, helpless. Just as he’d been when his mother died.

He had a vague recollection of his mother’s hair falling out, of her losing weight, becoming so frail and drawn that she’d looked sixty years older than she actually was. It wasn’t like that with Violet. She was already bald by the time he’d gotten there, her body already ravaged by the disease and on the verge of decay. She’d stopped all of her treatments. They simply weren’t working and she was tired of being poked and prodded. Morphine was the only medication she would allow them to give her. She was dying, not a masochist, she’d said.

Spring Break came and went but he didn’t go back to school. Instead, he took a leave of absence and stayed with Violet just like she had stayed with him and his dad. Her husband had died a couple of years before and she had a young, confused child to take care of so she needed all the help she could get.

Cancer was a thief, he’d realized. It didn’t just rob you of your life, it robbed you of your dignity, your freedom, your _self_. It took a healthy person and broke them, reverting them to the child they’d once been who couldn’t feed, clothe or take themselves to the bathroom. It made them dependent. An Invalid.

He’d watched Violet waste away, little by little every day. Gone was the vibrant young woman he’d once known. In her place was a shell.  On her good days, she’d slept through most of the day, waking only when they’d given her a bath and changed her feeding tube. If she had a little energy, her daughter would come in and read to her. She liked that. On her bad days, she’d writhed in agony, clamping down on her tongue and lips so hard that she’d drawn blood. As much as it pained him to see, he’d understood why she’d felt like she had to. If she didn’t, she would whimper in pain and she hadn’t wanted her daughter to hear, to be haunted by that memory. His mother had been that way too, though there’d been one time when he’d come home early from school and heard her crying. He remembered thinking that it wasn’t normal crying like when someone was sad because the sound made his tummy feel weird and his chest hurt. It was just so utterly…hopeless. A premature death knell of sorts.

Violet lingered for months but eventually, on a bright summer day, she’d passed away.

His dad, who had been going back and forth between Beacon Hills and San Diego where Violet lived, took care of the funeral arrangements while he’d just been…there. It had all seemed a bit surreal, like he had to be dreaming. It couldn’t possibly be happening to him. Not again. But it was and this time he’d been the adult, the one having to comfort the confused child who didn’t understand why her Mommy was gone, why she couldn’t see her. Someone had told her that Mommy had gone to heaven to meet Daddy and of course, being a child, she’d wanted to go too. He didn’t understand why adults lied to children. Even if children couldn’t understand the gravity of the situation, lying to them didn’t really help. And children weren’t nearly as stupid as adults thought they were. So he’d sat her down and told her about his mom and it had helped somewhat. But then she’d asked who would look after her since she had no grandparents, Violet’s parents having died when she was young and her father’s having never been in the picture, and to that Stiles had no answer.

The day of the funeral flew by in a blur. He could remember waking up in the morning but that was about it. Dressing, going to the church, being a pallbearer: none of that registered. His next conscious moment was standing beside Violet’s grave staring down at her coffin. Most of the guests – why were they even called guests? A funeral wasn’t a damn party – had dispersed, having gone back to the house, and only a few family members milled about in the background. He was the only one by the grave.

He didn’t know how long he’d stood there, staring down at her shiny mahogany coffin. There’d been bunches of violets strewn on top of it. It had seemed fitting, it being her namesake and all. He remembered wishing that it hadn’t been summer so that the rain could fall and wash away the tears that had begun to stream down his cheeks. He hadn’t cried since… He honestly couldn’t remember. He hadn’t cried when Derek left, though he’d come close, so it had probably been the day of his mother’s funeral. He hadn’t cried at the funeral itself or during the day, not wanting anyone to see his pain, but later that night, when the house had been dark and still, he’d bit into his pillow and let it out, _willed_ it out, because it was the only time he would give in to it, the only time he would allow it to take control of him. She wouldn’t have wanted him to mourn her. She would have wanted him to remember the good times they’d had together and he’d wanted to honor that, honor her. And because hearing him cry would’ve hurt his father more than he’d already been suffering and, even as a child, he couldn’t bear to inflict pain upon his father, anymore than had been necessary given the situation.

Violet was different, though. He’d simply had no control over it. The tears had come and there’d been nothing he could do to stop them so he’d bowed his head and let them have their way with him.

It hadn’t been long after, the summer breeze cool against his wet cheeks, when he’d felt a hand wrap around his own. He’d frozen still for a moment, his first thought that he’d been caught in such a private moment, but then he’d glanced up and froze again for an entirely different reason altogether.

_Derek._

His first instinct had been to pull his hand away but when he’d tugged, Derek’s fingers had tightened around his. Derek hadn’t looked at him as Stiles’ eyes bored into the side of his face. His gaze had been transfixed on Violet’s coffin.

Too tired to put up much of a fight, he’d given in, hunching his shoulders once again while his tears began anew, a different kind of pain wrenching his heart.

Eventually they’d returned to the house in Derek’s Camaro. He’d smiled politely at everyone who greeted him but didn’t stop to chat, making his way up the stairs to his room, Derek on his heels. He’d kicked off his shoes, shrugged out of his jacket, dropped onto the bed and promptly drifted off to sleep. He’d known that he had to talk to Derek at some point but Derek had made him wait for more than two years. The least he could do was wait a few hours.

He’d sat up abruptly in bed some time later, heart hammering, mind racing as he’d wondered if it had just been a dream. But no, Derek was still there, sitting in a chair beside him, brow creased with concern. He’d laid back down, eyes still glued to Derek’s, wondering what, if anything, he should say. Part of him had wanted to scream, to shout, to yell how much he hated him. To rain curses down on him in every language he could think of, and there’d been a few choice phrases that he’d saved up especially for this occasion. Another part of him had wanted to ask him why he’d come, to beg him not to leave again. He hadn’t had the strength for the former and hadn’t wanted to make himself vulnerable by giving into the latter so he’d said nothing. He’d simply stared, watching Derek watch him.

After that, Derek had become a constant presence at the house. Every morning, Derek showed up promptly at 9:00am. If Stiles had errands to run, Derek would drive him, which he appreciated since he’d nearly hit an old woman and her granddaughter just the week before while he’d been in an exhausted daze. It had been draining, watching and waiting for someone to die. His father hadn’t been too happy with Derek’s reappearance, not after the mess he’d left Stiles in the last time, but he hadn’t chased him away or threatened to shoot him, that Stiles knew of anyway. Perhaps he’d seen something in Derek that made him decide to give him a chance. Or maybe he’d noticed that Stiles had stopped looking like the walking dead when Derek had shown up. He wasn’t as pale, was eating, smiling and talking more. He’d hated to admit it but even he had noticed the change in himself.

Finally, one day he’d decided to stop being a coward and address the elephant in the room. They’d driven around for a while and he’d asked Derek to stop at some kind of field or meadow. It was tranquil and deserted. He’d figured that no one would interrupt them there and if by chance things got heated and one of them killed the other, they’d have a good chance of getting away with murder.

“What are you doing here, Derek? How did you even know where I was?”

“Peter told me,” Derek had replied simply. “I assume he found out from Scott or one of the others. We were talking and I asked how you were, like I always do, and he told me. When I heard, I just knew that I had to come.”

“Why?” he’d pressed, voice breaking.

Derek shrugged. “I just knew. I knew that you’d need me.”

And that had been the end of that. He could’ve grilled Derek ‘til the cows came home, the answer would’ve remained the same. _You needed me._

He didn’t immediately forgive Derek, couldn’t forget the pain he’d felt when Derek had left, but he’d made a concerted effort not to hold it against him. Clearly there was still something between them and if he was ever going to have a normal, functional relationship later on in life then this _thing_ needed to run its course.

Everything should have been settled then but it wasn’t. There was still one more curveball headed his way.

Violet had written a will, which was surprising since everyone assumed that everything she owned would go to her daughter, Lizzie, but since Lizzie was only six and needed a guardian, someone had to be appointed as such and as the trustee of her estate until she turned eighteen.

Stiles was apparently that someone.

No one and nothing could have prepared him for the shock. His first thought had been that he was too young to be a father. He’d only been twenty at the time, twenty-one just over the horizon but still too young. He hadn’t even graduated college yet, had no money of his own, wasn’t married and the closest thing he had to a relationship was five feet, eleven inches of brooding, compact muscle. Violet had some savings, life insurance from her husband as well as her own, so Violet would be well taken care of for a while but kids were expensive, houses too, and he didn’t know the first thing about either one. He was an only child who hadn’t worked a day in his life, except for his position at the college library which he didn’t really consider work at all. Stacking books and indexing was more like a hobby to him.

Violet had written a letter too, explaining how and why she’d come to her decision, but the guilt trip hadn’t changed Stiles’ mind in the slightest.

When they’d gotten home from the lawyer’s office, he’d crawled into bed, burrowed beneath the covers and slept for ten hours. Just like he had after Violet’s funeral, after Derek left, after his mom’s funeral. It was how he dealt with stress, his thing. Waking up didn’t bring any form of enlightenment but he’d felt better, calmer and more capable of dealing with the situation. He’d turned to the one person he knew would have all the answers: his father.

In the end, it was decided that some cousin or other of his dad’s would take Lizzie in. They were a nice couple with no children of their own so it seemed ideal. Lizzie could visit them in Beacon Hills whenever she wanted. The house was to be sold, the money put in a trust fund for Violet which Stiles would oversee until she was eighteen. It was imperative, his father had said, that Stiles retain some part of the decision-making process. It was what Violet would have wanted.

It was all very sad, he’d thought, realizing just how lucky he’d been to still have his father, despite the fact that it had sometimes been hard for him to juggle his role of father with that of grieving husband. It was bad enough that Lizzie had lost her mother, her sole remaining parent, but now she was losing her home, her school, her friends, forced to move in with complete strangers. Everything that was normal and familiar was being wrenched away, leaving her adrift, lost, without an anchor. Cancer really was a thief, in more ways than one.

Eventually he’d had to go back to school but saying goodbye to Lizzie had been tough. Even though he’d felt that he was too young to take care of her, in some ways she already felt like his. Maybe in a few years, five maybe ten, he would be a better man and could give her what she needed like a parent was supposed to. Maybe. But at the time, all he could do was kiss her goodbye and promise to call her often. And he’d meant it.

Derek’s goodbye with Lizzie had taken everyone by surprise. Everyone but Derek himself.

She’d clung to his leg, crying: the only person she’d shed any tears for besides her mother. It hadn’t struck him ‘til much later that the two had formed some sort of bond during Derek’s visits. He remembered passing by Lizzie’s room, seeing her sitting at her tea table with her Barbie dolls, Derek opposite her. He wasn’t playing with her dolls or having tea, he’d simply sat, sometimes reading the newspaper or a book, listening to her chatter, answering her questions if she’d had any. Once, he’d walked in on them, heads bent together, and he could’ve sworn he’d heard Lizzie giggling. He'd wondered what Derek was telling her but hadn’t asked, hadn’t wanted to spoil what little joy she could still find in the world.

Seeing their interactions made him think, made him wonder. Derek was a grown man in every way that mattered, but how had he been as a child? Had he even had a childhood? He’d realized that he knew nothing about Derek, not really. He had no idea about the relationships he’d had with his family, the family whose deaths he carried with him everywhere. Had he loved them? Had they loved him? Had they been good to him? He didn't know the answers to any of those questions, not for a lack of wanting to. He just didn’t know how to ask when he knew how much pain Derek was constantly in as a result of what had happened.

Derek had followed him back to Stanford. Stiles had tried not to be too happy about it.

Because he’d missed the latter half of his second semester, he’d had to do it over but he’d gotten credit for the first semester so he’d had nothing to do until the new year. Thus, he found himself spending a lot of time with Derek while he worked as a bartender in a pub near the university. His friends often came in for drinks and they’d constantly asked him why his boyfriend never talked, if he was grumpy all the time. He would only smile and shrug his shoulders. Derek’s boss didn’t mind his sticking around so long as he made himself useful so he’d help out sometimes and found that he actually made good tips. He’d asked Derek’s boss why he’d hired him – Derek was the least social person he’d ever met and bartending was as social a job as one could possibly find – but in lieu of an explanation, his boss had merely pointed at a group of dithering women at the bar preening and doing everything possible to attract Derek’s attention, to no avail. They kept ordering drinks, even though they’d barely touched any of them, seemingly making a competition out of it. Sometimes Derek would flash a smile at one of them, which Stiles knew meant that he’d caught onto them and decided to play along.

Stiles had wondered if he should be jealous but found that he wasn’t and gave himself a mental pat on the back for being a highly evolved man.

They still hadn’t really talked, about what had happened or where they were headed, but as time passed by, they’d slipped into a comfortable pattern. He’d found himself spending more and more time at the studio apartment Derek had rented, also near his campus, and eventually elected out of student housing to move in full time. As he was crawling into bed one night, it finally hit him: although he and Derek were essentially together and had been for almost a year since his return, the level of intimacy in their relationship had been seriously lacking. It wasn’t that he didn’t find Derek attractive or didn’t want him – that most certainly was not the case and he’d had many wet dreams to prove it – but Derek had never made a move to kiss or touch him, other than the occasional handhold or casual stroke, and he’d never put any moves on Derek either.

The thought had hounded him, making him twist and turn beneath the sheets, until finally he’d flipped over to face Derek, who’d already been watching him with those intense green eyes of his, and demanded:

“Why haven’t you tried to make love to me? Or kissed me, or _anything_?”

“Do you want me to?” Derek had asked, as if Stiles’ question was the most normal thing in the world at 3:00 in the morning.

He’d had to pause for a moment to weigh his response, though. If he’d said _yes_ , which was the truth, and Derek didn’t actually want to make love to him, he would’ve been mortally embarrassed. If he’d said _no_ , which was a lie and Derek did want to make love to him, then he’d be shooting himself in the foot. Not to mention exiling himself to blue-balls island for an unspecified period of time.

“Do _you_ want to?” he’d finally asked, throwing the ball in Derek’s court. It was a copout but it was the best strategic move given the situation.

“Yes,” Derek had replied simply.

“Well why haven’t you then?”

Derek had shrugged. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

Stiles had rolled his eyes. “Of course I do.”

“Good.”

And that was all it took to get the ball rolling.

The next thing he knew, Derek was on top of him, his tongue somewhere down in his lungs, and his clothes were melting away. Literally, he was sure, since Derek’s body was so hot that he didn’t need to use his hands for anything. Everything would burn off to get out of his way.

And just as he’d been about to sing a litany of hallelujahs, toes curled, body trembling in anticipation with the hot weight of Derek’s naked flesh pressed upon his own, mind skipping down the yellow brick road to Lalaland, Derek had stopped, pulled back and looked down at him. The _bastard_.

“And Stiles?”

“What?” he’d growled in frustration.

“I don’t want to make love to you. I want to make love _with_ you.”

Something had gotten into his eye just then. _Dammit_. There’d been no other explanation for the sudden burning, tearing and blurry vision.

Everything had been perfect after that. As perfect as life could be in a non-perfect world, anyway.

Coming down to the end of the school year, he’d started to feel like something was off. Not with Derek, he couldn’t be happier with their relationship, and he’d been looking forward to going home and seeing his friends and family for the summer, but something just hadn’t felt right.

After his final exam for the semester, he’d realized what it was: school. He didn’t want to be there anymore.

There were two professions that he’d always believed one needed passion for in order to be good at it: teaching and medicine. If you didn’t have that drive, that will to persevere, it would crush you. Either that or you’d just be going through the motions and you wouldn’t be any good to anyone. That was where he’d found himself, going through the motions.

After his mom had fallen ill, he’d decided that he wanted to be a doctor. Specifically, a clinical oncologist. He’d wanted to find the cure for her, to make her better. After she’d died, he hadn’t really thought about it again but when the time came to apply for college, it had been the first and only thing that came to mind so he’d run with it. Later, when he’d found out about Violet, that drive had returned somewhat but he’d known that by the time he was able to do anything to help her, she’d be long gone. That was it in a nutshell. He’d wanted to be a doctor to save the people he’d cared about who’d been stricken with that horrible disease but he couldn’t save the dead. They were beyond saving. If the only time he felt motivated was when someone he knew was ill then the passion wasn’t there. Not really. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about other people or the world at large but he’d lost his reason for wanting to become a doctor a long time ago and without it, without her, there was simply no point.

“You can still make a difference, you know,” Derek had told him when he’d informed him of his decision. “You could be the one who discovers the cure.”

He’d always thought that there already was one, a cure, but disease and production of pharmaceutical drugs were a trillion dollar business, one which significantly benefited the government, so it was hardly surprising that they kept it to themselves.

He’d felt guilty, selfish, but he didn’t think he would be a very good doctor and truth be told, having been through it twice already with people he loved, he didn’t know if he could stomach watching people die day in and day out or having to be the one to tell them that they were going to, especially children. It was simply too much.

His dad hadn’t been too happy about his decision – he didn’t have to drop out of college, he could just change his major – but he’d understood. Stiles had joked about enrolling in Beacon Hills Community and becoming a lab tech for the county examiner’s office or enlisting in the police academy. It honestly didn’t sound so bad. He’d already made up his mind to go home and if he had a position where he could be of some help to the community as well as his friends, especially if he was going to continue dating a trouble-prone werewolf, then it certainly couldn’t hurt.

Scott had come down to help them pack and as they did so, he’d found himself wondering about where he and Derek were going to live.

Scott and Allison now lived in Scott’s house and Melissa had already moved in with his dad, living in sin before the wedding as he’d put it teasingly. Isaac had moved into Derek’s old loft and Peter still lived in his dungeon somewhere. They could stay with his dad, he knew, but he didn’t want to spoil their newlywed bliss when the time came. Isaac was also an option but the apartment was his now. They would eventually have to find a place of their own. The answer, when it came, was both difficult and obvious.

The Hale House.

For too long it had been a tragic symbol, a landmark of evil and death. That was how the townspeople thought of it and would until or unless someone did something to change it. Then there was Derek. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was the only home that Derek had ever known, was the only home he would ever know. _Home is where the heart is._ Stiles had always believed that. So long as he had his dad and his friends, he could live anywhere. But for Derek that house, that land, would forever be a part of him. Perhaps, under extenuating circumstances, home really did boil down to a place more so than people. Or, if Stiles had any say in the matter, a combination of the two.

A rebuild of that magnitude was going to require major funding and there was only one person who could help him with that: Dear Uncle Peter. The Hales had a lot of money – he’d always wondered what their source of income had been before the fire but had never been brave enough to put his thoughts into words – and as the only other surviving member of the family, at least half of it was Derek’s. After a few heated, expletive-filled phone calls, Peter came on board and promised to set the ball rolling. When he’d received a call from Chris Argent a few days later, offering to foot half of the bill for the renovation, Stiles had been dumbstruck. His family had never made amends for what Kate had done, Chris had said, and it weighed heavily on his heart. It seemed a bit much, in Stiles’ opinion, especially since, of all the Argents, Chris was unarguably the nicest and least culpable. But his family’s vendetta _had_ cost Derek his own home and Stiles _did_ need the money so…

There’d been two stipulations, though. One, Derek couldn’t know. He’d wanted it to be a surprise. They would be back in Beacon Hills before the house was completed anyway but he still swore everyone to secrecy. And two, that Peter and the dads – somehow Sheriff Stilinski and Papa Argent had taken on the roles as co-foremen – not use one of those speedy building crews that he’d seen on those television shows like _Extreme Makeover: Home Edition_. Not that he didn’t appreciate expediency and he and Derek _did_ need their own space but the Hale House had been huge and Stiles wanted it rebuilt as close to the original fortitude, elegance and extravagance as possible. More importantly, however, was that it was imperative that Derek see it being rebuilt. If the ruins of the Hale House had been symbolic then the renovation, restoration, would be too. And Derek needed to see it with his own two eyes. He needed to know that while things did die, they could also be reborn again. That there were new beginnings in old endings. It was a rebirth of sorts for both of them.

At some point, it finally clicked in his mind why Derek and Lizzie had gotten along so well. They were the same. Both orphans, both having lost everyone and everything known to them. Ever since the fire, even before Laura’s death, Derek had been adrift, lost, no stability, nowhere to call home. Losing Laura and Peter’s betrayal had been the nail in the coffin, so to speak. It was no wonder he’d tried to create a family of his own with the betas but then that had failed. It didn’t matter that, in the end, Isaac and Boyd, even Scott, had chosen him. To be his pack. As far as Derek was concerned, no one had wanted him and he didn’t deserve them anyway even if they had. Yet, he’d come back for Stiles hadn’t he? And Stiles knew, instinctively, that Derek wasn’t going anywhere unless he told him to. Derek might not realize it, but he had made Stiles his home. Stiles intended to keep it that way. Between him and the house, Derek’s life would be back on track soon enough but Stiles still felt like he needed more. There was a part of Derek that was still a wounded child, like Lizzie. In order for the man to bloom, to grow, the child had to heal.

Derek would never agree to see a shrink, Stiles didn’t even have to ask to know the response he would get to that suggestion, so he’d decided that he’d just have to do some head-shrinking of his own. His dad still had some of his mom’s college psychology texts. It was about time someone put them to good use. The house was merely the first step in operation _The World Loves You, Derek Hale_. Or _TWLYDH_. Or _P[People]LYDH._ It sounded nice in his head, not so much out loud. Kind of Celtic-ish.

So here they were, approaching Beacon Hills. Home.

They’d argued – one of their favorite pastimes – about which car to drive down and which one to have transported. Derek had argued that his baby was too precious for some stranger to handle but Stiles countered that _his_ baby wasn’t precious at all, as old and beaten up as his Jeep was, thus no one would feel the least bit obligated to take care of it. He’d known that he’d won when Derek had grumbled beneath his breath and shuffled out of the room. Later that night, when they’d been curled up in bed, he’d smiled to himself thinking that neither one had even suggested driving their own respective cars. He hadn’t even considered it and he was positive that Derek hadn’t either. It had given him a warm feeling, knowing that they were on the same wavelength. So completely… _together_.

“Almost there,” he chirped, reaching over to pat Derek on the thigh.

There was a low grunt of sorts, the wolf waking from his sleep.

A strange nervousness suddenly settled in stomach. He knew that he was doing the right thing. School would still be there if he ever decided to go back and he would always be the smartest person he knew, except for Lydia of course but she had run off to London to be with Jackson after a year of trying to tame Peter so yes, technically, he was the smartest person he knew so he would have no problems getting back into the swing of things if he ever did decide to be a doctor or whatever else later on in life. For now, this was the road he’d decided to take. The one he had to, both for himself and for Derek.

When he finally drove over the county line, Scott’s phone pealing in the backseat – Allison, no doubt – the nervousness dissipated, an intense calm taking its place, and his excitement returned. It reminded him of when he'd left for college. He’d known then that he was doing what he’d needed to at the time and it reaffirmed that he’d made the right decision this time as well. Parallels. They were everywhere.

He would drop Scott off then head to his dad’s house, he decided. At some point during the day, Derek would disappear. To go home. The house called to him and he was helpless to resist it, not that he’d ever tried, Stiles was sure. He really wanted to be there when Derek saw his new house, the foundation of it anyway, to gauge his reaction but he would give him this time to himself. He’d never seen Derek cry but he knew that it would be an emotional experience for him. Maybe there would be tears and _maybe_ Stiles would want to take a picture to commemorate the occasion because who knew when it would happen again, if ever. He loved Derek but he was still an insufferable idiot, as Derek was fond of saying, and sometimes he couldn’t help but give into that part of him that would always be immature, his inner child. He couldn’t do that to Derek, not for something this important, so he would leave him be.

He tightened his fingers where they still lay on Derek’s thigh, pressing lightly into the firm muscle.

“Welcome home, Sourwolf.” He flashed a cheeky grin, knowing how much Derek just _loved_ that nickname.

There was a snort and a soft, incomprehensible grumble that was typical Derek.

The real response, he knew, came when Derek laid his hand on top of his, warm, thick fingers curling into the spaces between Stiles’ long, thin ones, joining them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it wasn't too emo-y.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> BTW, how do you add links in the beginning/end notes?


End file.
